


A Pair of Asses

by Pretending2BeMe



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Arguing, Boys Being Boys, Humor, M/M, Panic, Stupidity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 15:42:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7763602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pretending2BeMe/pseuds/Pretending2BeMe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeremy gets in a panic but luckily for him (and the rest of the world), James is there to snap him out of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Pair of Asses

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by Jeremy saying that he was ahem... a tad worried ahead of their first studio day in Johannesburg. *Oh how happy I am to write those words - it's actually happening!!*
> 
> As double-tagging seems to be the thing at the moment, I'm doing that for this one even though it's GT specific.

Only Jeremy could go missing in the middle of nowhere.  One minute he was next to James, going through some last-minute scripty bits and the next, he was nowhere to be seen.

Stopping mid-sentence, James looked up from his papers, did a full 360 degree turn on his spot, looked skyward and sighed.  They were in a massive green tent in a gigantic field in the largest place on earth and the tallest man for miles had literally disappeared. _How the fuck does that happen?!_

After twenty minutes of searching under canvas (literally) and asking assorted crew with far more important things to do than wonder about The Amazing Vanishing Clarkson, James decided to widen the search outside.

Balking at the wall of heat beyond the tent; James, with hand up to shield his eyes from the South African sunlight scanned the area.  Between him and the horizon, there was nothing apart from their own assorted transport, equipment and other bits of magic that made everything work properly, oh, and a shed load of grass.  Turning right, James took off on a walk around the perimeter of the tent.  _He’s got to be round here somewhere._

After what felt like a stupid amount of time to be out in such insane temperatures, James reached the back of the tent where, at last, he located Jeremy. He was slouched precariously against the heavy wall of the tent, one hand gripping the thick anchor rope and the other nursing the last of a cigarette.

Striding forwards, James called out, “What’s up mate; you alright?”

Jeremy darted his head up in James’ direction and let it drop again, “Yeah, I just need a minute on my own, that’s all,” he replied flatly.

James cocked an eyebrow; he knew when something was up and something was definitely up right now, “You make a lousy Greta Garbo – now come on, out with it.”

Jeremy, still slouching and feigning great interest in a tuft of grass between his feet, briefly toyed with the idea of lying but knew that would just make things worse so, sucking hard on his cigarette he glanced up sheepishly and said, “I can’t do it. I can’t do it James, I can’t go out there; I just can’t.”

James was one of only a handful of people that ever saw this side to Jeremy, the quiet, worrisome, _vulnerable_ side that usually lay buried under the billion layers of Clarkson.  Usually it took a while to escape, seeping out at the edges of the noise until, to the trained eye, it became the tiniest bit visible but here it was, fully laid bare right at James’ feet.  What he should have done is what he’d done hundreds of times in the past - move very slowly and very carefully to quietly coax the problem out and then feed the solution in with very cautious, considered words of encouragement until Jeremy found his own answer and normal running could be restored.

However, James did none of this; instead, he raked his hand through his hair, did an exasperated half-turn, swore and spun back.  Jabbing the air between them he began to yell, “Oh no, oh no, no no no no! You are not doing this, Clarkson, not today!”

Jeremy was absolutely dumbfounded by James’ reaction and he immediately snapped upright, tossing his cigarette end as he went. For a few seconds he didn’t say anything while he waited for his brain to catch up. Eventually though, he did manage to stutter out an explanation of sorts, “But…but I haven’t stood in front of an audience for nearly 18 months…”

“Neither have I, you dipstick!” James cut in, still irate.  “You think you’re the only one bricking it do you? Wake up, Clarkson, every single one us in that tent is in the same boat as you, difference is, no one else has got the fucking luxury of thinking about it because they’ve all got ten billion other things to do!”

As suddenly as he’d started, James stopped and took in the look of confused trepidation on Jeremy’s face.  Sighing out a “Fuck,” he dived forward and enveloped Jeremy in a tight hug.

For a few moments, neither man spoke, content to just hold each other under the piercing Jo’berg sun.  Eventually James shifted and, pulling Jeremy down a touch, he pressed their foreheads together; “You idiot,” he whispered before taking his mouth in a long, slow kiss.

As the kiss deepened, James felt Jeremy relax against him and, with gentle hands on his back, he pulled him through it until he heard that oh so familiar moan in the back of Jeremy’s throat that meant their universe was back on track. Taking a step back, James looked at Jeremy and smiled, prompting him to smile back. “Better?” he asked.

Dropping his gaze once more, Jeremy shrugged, “A bit.” Taking his cigarettes from his back pocket he slipped one between his fingers. “You?” he added carefully as he flicked his eyes back up and cracked his lighter.

James paused as he waited for Jeremy to take the first drag before stealing the smoke from his lips and taking his own lungful, “I will be,” he answered on the exhale; “I will be when you talk to me.”

Taking his cigarette back, Jeremy drew on it and shucked his shoulder in a _what more is there to say_ way.

“Alright, answer me this,” James said as a get-in, “When was the first time you performed on a stage?”

Jeremy sighed, “School Nativity – you know the story.” 

James once more took Jeremy’s cigarette and drew on it. “Yeah, you were so pissed off that no-one could see you under the donkey costume that you took it off.”

Jeremy pulled a face and snatched his cigarette back, “James, what the fuck has this got to do with anything?”

Smirking at Jeremy’s obvious irritation, James once more whipped the cigarette from between Jeremy’s fingers, pulled in a lungful and explained, “The point I’m trying to make is that even as a kid, you wanted it – _needed it_ – and I know that today is no different.”

Growling while desperately trying to hide a smile, Jeremy gripped James’ wrist forcing back his smoke. “Oh don’t talk such bollocks, May, it’s just a job,” he said dismissively.

Darting forwards, James swiped the cigarette right from Jeremy’s mouth and hopped backwards. Laughing as Jeremy narrowly missed grabbing it back he said, “So why are you flapping then?”

Bending down, Jeremy ran rugby style straight at James. Connecting with his chest, he propelled him to the ground; the momentum making him fall in tandem.  Rolling him onto his back, Jeremy once more took ownership of his cigarette and sucked in a large mouthful of smoke.  Flopping down beside him he burst out laughing.

For a few minutes, neither of them could do anything except giggle at their own stupidity and swap half-hearted playful slaps to their sides.   

Eventually, Jeremy was able to gather himself enough to say, “I do NOT ‘flap’. I’ve never ‘flapped’ in my life.”

“You bloody do!” James chuckled back, taking another slap in the process.

Sighing, Jeremy let himself calm as he squinted against the searing sunlight.  Bringing his cigarette to his mouth he noticed that it was damn near down to the filter.  Shaking his head, he turned on to his side, propped himself on his elbow and admitted defeat.

Grinning smugly, James shifted to mirror Jeremy’s pose, took the offered cigarette and sucked down the last of it. Stubbing it out on the dry earth, James took hold of Jeremy’s hand and squeezed gently, “It’ll be alright, you know; you just…”

Jeremy cocked an eyebrow, “Just what?” he asked.

James desperately tried to arrange his face in a serious manner but he failed heartily as his words left his mouth, “You need to channel your inner donkey.”

For the second time that afternoon, Jeremy and James collapsed in laughter that lasted far longer than it should have.

When they finally pulled themselves together, their chests were heaving, their shirts were sticky from the heat and their hands were filthy from slapping the ground and each other in insane merriment.  Simultaneously wiping the tears from their eyes, they pulled each other upright and tried valiantly to dust themselves off.

“Come on,” sighed James, “Time’s marching, they’ll be wondering where we are in minute,”

Wiping his hands on his jeans, Jeremy looked James in the eye and smiled sheepishly, “Thanks,” he said quietly, “You know I couldn’t do any of this without you.”

James smiled, shook his head and slung his arm Jeremy’s shoulders, “Shut up,” he teased; “Let’s get in there and show the world what we’re capable of.”

Jeremy could do nothing but grin as an image of him and James in a donkey costume flashed across his mind.

The End


End file.
